For Every Tib and Tom Cat

dijous

9. lights out for you, rather, you jerk!










Bobby Lightbulb, sluthdom’s top mistress









Lights out, Lightbulb!

Barks the dog, the god, the cop.



Hate bromides, you punk!

I reply

And shoot and kill

Without compunction

The interloper cum awful punster.



Came the aggressor

Through my bedroom window

That with brutal effraction he busted (indeed!)



Bring thy butt into the bed!

He commanded while I knew

Exactly under which pillow my gun fretted.



Bring thy butt into the bed

As my bud develops into the bloodiest of

The most gigantic flowers that be, babe!




Bad bid, Bud!

I’m thinking and

Bloodiest and stinkiest your flower

Like that lentous and fetid great orchid

With orchitis and sundry suppurating orchioceles to boot

Which flowers once in a blue moon

I’m told

And the name of which I forget


As I was making believe I was compliant enough

And therefore going to suck

His tacky flower like a degenerate bee

And my firm dry hand my fretting gun

Was feeling with glee.



The neb

The nib of his gun

On the knob of my nob

He notices some of my subtle shenanigans

Ah

Lights out, Lightbulb...!



Hate bromides, you punk!

For which crime

Amongst others

Take that

And that

And that...!









Never so well

Never so well
nyac!

Inosculated

Inosculated
anyocs de nyacs!

who the 'ell?

La meva foto
C.R. Morell his paltry efforts,

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